


Reflection

by LizzyHN



Series: Strawberry Fields [1]
Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: Stream of Consciousness, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyHN/pseuds/LizzyHN
Summary: Just a writing exercise to get me out of a writing funk. Tora's reflections after meeting Poppy for the first time.
Series: Strawberry Fields [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873831
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first uploaded work here. I don't normally write fanfic, but I have a few pieces that are from writing exercises that I figured I'd polish up and contribute to the MPL community. Nothing smutty, *yet*, just me trying to get a sense of characters, mostly Tora. Questions, comments and concerns are welcome. 
> 
> Lilydusk's guidelines for Fan Creations:
> 
> Fanwork creator is free to create any kinds of fan creations and share them on any public or private platform as long as the creator acknowledges that:  
> 1\. No profit is to be made from fan creation.  
> 2\. Any resemblance that the original piece bears to fan creation is coincidental and unintentional,  
> 3\. Fan creation is to be a transformative work, derived from a single idea, a single sketch, or a small percentage of the original piece.

Tora kicked the door to his apartment shut with the heel of his boot and threw his back up against it, dropping the plastic shopping bag of food to the floor. The can of strawberry juice tumbled out of the bag and rolled to his feet. _Christ_. He raked a hand through his hair before running it down his face.

“What the fuck kind of day is this?” he said aloud, as he groped in his pants pockets, tugging out cigarettes and a lighter. Tora slipped a cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter a few times before producing a small flame. He lit his cigarette, the tip glowing in the shadowed dimness of the room. He inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment before exhaling a stream of swirling smoke above him.

“Fuck’n day,” he mumbled between his lips clutching the cigarette. He crouched down to retrieve the plastic bag of food, his large hand wrapping around the can of strawberry juice on the floor. Tora held the slim can in his palm for a moment. The aluminum was smooth and cool against his calloused skin. He thought about how _she_ felt under his touch, gently gripping her small wrists, his fingers clutching the soft curves of her body. Tora shook his head and stood upright. _What the hell was he thinking?_

With a gruff grunt, he stalked over to the couch and flopped down onto the worn-in cushions, setting the plastic bag at his feet on the concrete floor. With one hand, he popped the tab of the can. Taking his cigarette out of his mouth, he took a long, deep swing from the can. Red juice spilled into his open mouth and he closed his eyes as he swallowed it down. He took another swing before popping his cigarette back between his lips. He drew in a deep breath, sucking in the smoke. The sweet flavor of strawberries clung to his taste buds, mingling with the tang of nicotine. The taste was almost as sweet as the soft sound of her voice— _almost_.

“Goddamnit, get a fuck’n grip,” Tora growled, throwing himself back on the sofa. He stared up at the cold concrete ceiling, one arm behind his head, the other still clutching the can of strawberry juice. The glow of the city lights streamed in from the upper windows, dancing across the blank ceiling, the muffled sounds of cars roaring in the distance and sirens blaring seeped in through the walls.

Tora couldn’t put today into words. It was all a blur and his thoughts jockeyed for first. Goliath and the notebook, and _her—_ no, _goddamnit_ the shoe and the blood, but _her—shit_ , the notebook, the page, but _her,_ and _her,_ and _her. Wait—Fuck._ Tora blew out another swirl of smoke. Had the girl really derailed him that bad? Sure, she was an unexpected piece in this fucked up puzzle that was unfolding before him. An unexpected, cute, and puzzling piece, who climbed fucking old trees to rescue fucking cats. He squeezed his eyes shut, only to have her face float into his mind, the image of her stepping out of the bushes, her brunette hair haloing her like a goddamn angel, then the image of her sitting up in the tree, surrounded by the twinkle of city lights, holding a _fucking_ cat. His eyes snapped back open. _Shit_. Tora sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. He plucked his cigarette from his mouth with his hand still holding the can of strawberry juice, while the other pulled out his phone from his back pocket. With a sharp exhale of breath, Tora opened the photo app on his phone, pulling up the picture he had snapped of her on the train.

He had cropped it before sending it to Gyu, but he didn’t need the photo evidence to remember the smooth creamy skin of her chest or the scallop of lilac lace curving around the swell of her breasts. Tora gazed off into the dimming light of his apartment and felt a hot flush fill his face. He looked back at his phone, looked back at the photo of her, looked into the warmth of her brown eyes. Fuck, she was cute. But there was something behind the moist glisten of her gaze—sadness, maybe? Surprise? Sure. He was just as surprised as she was—hell, probably more so. She must think he was being a pervert. Guess he kind of was, taking her photo like that. But whose fucking top just bursts open? How was he supposed to know? _Goddamnit_. Tora should have just snatched the bag. He was in the mafia for christ sake.

Smoke circled Tora’s face, the glow from his phone illuminating his features. His brow knitted together in thought as he contemplated her expression. _What happened to you?_ he wondered as he remembered the rounded hunch of her shoulders as she sat on the bench, waiting for the train; the way her small frame crumpled into herself to shield her body from further exposure; how his sweatshirt seemed to swallow her whole as he darted from the train. But she had fight in her—he had witnessed it briefly. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he remembered her kicking the tire of the scooter in furry. _Feisty, huh?_ A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but quickly fell away at the returning thought of Goliath and the notebook.

Tora inhaled deeply from the cigarette, releasing a gush of smoke through his nostrils. Was she involved? He could feel the page he had picked up from the brush burning a hole in his pocket, the scrawled names splattered in blood scorching his brain. After the cat and tree incident, he wasn’t so sure. She seemed so innocent and, and—Tora reached for the right word— _pure_ , the type of person who would risk their goddamn neck for a goddamn cat stuck in a goddamn tree. The type of person who would apologize to an inanimate object. There was no way someone as sweet as her was wrapped up in his fucked up world. He hoped she hadn’t recognized him tonight, especially with that lame celebrity cover. _A singer, seriously?_ He had to get that notebook back, before she got any more tangled up in this brewing shit storm. Now more than ever, since Vincent was officially getting Tora involved and every goddamn lowlife on Ares street was on the hunt for it for a quick cash in. Gyu better come through soon with that fucking background check.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Tora whispered aloud, taking one last look at the photo of her before thumbing off his phone and tossing the device to the floor. He sat up to chug the remainder of the strawberry juice and laid back on the couch, letting the empty can tumble to the floor. Goddamnit, he had that clan luncheon thing tomorrow. _Fuck my life_ , Tora thought as he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the floor. He rolled over on his side, rubbing at his sore neck, too tired to eat.

He let his heavy eyelids close. He was tired, running off of approximately zero sleep. Her face floated to the surface of his brain. He would wait for Gyu to get the info he needed on her. He’d worry about the notebook then. Just this once, he would give himself this—let his mind wander and replay the better moments from the day, moments of her. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something comforting about her. He could feel his guard slipping. Him! the man who always slept with one eye open, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. But she wasn’t from his world. She wasn’t coming for him. If anything she should be the worried one. She had no idea what secrets she carried with her, the ugly blackness that lay in wait, ready to corrupt even the most innocent, willing them into the inky darkness, never to return to the light.

Tora wondered where she was now. _Safe at home,_ he thought, conjuring the imaginary image of her curled up under a blanket, her hair flowing over a pillow, her eyes fluttering with sleep, her body swaddled in his sweater. _Safe at home_. Tora repeated it to himself like a mantra, fighting off the demons that threatened to implant dark and violent fears into his brain. _Safe. Home._ Two words Tora had never known, but had always longed for.


End file.
